


Make Yourself At Home

by entanglednow



Series: Hospitality [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Is The Perfect Guest, Crowley has an imagination, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Embarrassment, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: After inviting Aziraphale back to his flat, Crowley suggests he take a shower to relax. Aziraphale thinks that's a great idea. Crowley remembers too late that he might have forgotten to take something important out of the bathroom first.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hospitality [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632205
Comments: 173
Kudos: 990
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Ixnael’s Recommendations





	Make Yourself At Home

When they get back to his flat Crowley snaps up a sofa - and then belatedly a living room for it to go in. He's never had much use for one himself, but he wants Aziraphale to be comfortable.

It doesn't seem to help, neither does the fortifying cup of tea that Crowley takes the time to make for him manually. Aziraphale is a cream and beige cloud of confused misery on his brand new sofa, clothing rumpled, bow tie askew. He looks tired and lost, in a way that it physically pains Crowley see. There's a long smudge of soot on his cheek and it's been bothering him for a while. Crowley's not sure how it got there, though his own fingers are an absolute mess, and they did spend the bus ride with their hands awkwardly pressed together, even if not a word was spoken about it. Aziraphale must have gotten some on him, touched his own face.

It's been a long week for both of them. Aziraphale turned his back on Heaven, got discorporated, got unexpectedly re-corporated by the Antichrist, then had to face down Satan himself. Crowley's not feeling so hot either, if he's being honest. He'd killed a demon he knew personally with holy water, briefly thought the love of his life was dead, lost his car to an unholy maelstrom of fire, also faced down Satan, and then had to stop time for two and a half minutes to convince the Antichrist not to destroy the whole world. 

Also, they're both probably going to be executed tomorrow. So, yeah, it's definitely been one of those days.

"Hey, you can take a shower, if you like." Crowley gestures to the black door recessed into the wall. "It might make you feel a bit more like yourself, get your head together."

Aziraphale turns to look at him.

"You wouldn't mind?" He looks surprised, as if Crowley hasn't been waiting years to get Aziraphale into his flat, maybe give him a tour, offer him expensive wine out of the nicest glasses he could miracle up. It kind of sucks that it took the end of the world for it to happen. 

"Course not, angel. I told you to make yourself at home and I meant it."

"That does sound nice," Aziraphale admits with a nod. He rests both hands on his thighs and then makes an unhappy noise when he sees the state of his left hand. "And I appear to be in need of one, polite of you not to mention it." He gives a shaky smile.

Crowley raises a sooty eyebrow at him, because he's fairly sure all of Aziraphale's current dirt has been acquired by being in close proximity to him.

"Yes," Aziraphale says more firmly. "I think I'll take your advice, and your generous offer. There is certainly something to be said for cleaning oneself the human way, rather than doing it by miracle."

Crowley shows him the way, which is mostly unnecessary since it's _right there_ , but he's determined to be a good host. He pushes the door of the bathroom open, exposing the dark grey walls and immaculate, shining fixtures. Aziraphale heads inside, making quiet, polite noises at the lack of decor, before he comes to a stop in the middle of the room, in a way that feels surprised and, Crowley likes to think, impressed. 

"I know the room's three times the size it needs to be," Crowley admits. "But sometimes you just have to be a giant snake in a giant bathtub."

Aziraphale turns his head and gives him a wide, fond smile, as if he finds the thought endearing, as if maybe he'd even like to see that some time. Crowley mentally shakes himself out of that train of thought and then snaps his fingers sharply, conjuring a stack of thick, black towels, neatly folded and slightly warm, like they'd come from some tumble dryer in liminal space.

He passes them over. "Here."

Aziraphale reaches out, takes them with both hands.

"Thank you, Crowley, really, for everything." His face softens, and Crowley can feel a speech coming on, or worse an apology. Which feels a little too 'we who are about to die,' for his liking.

"No," he protests with a grimace. "None of that. Just - just yell if you need anything."

Aziraphale nods and pats the towels.

"Of course. Oh, is it alright if I use your...er -" He looks a little uncertain, eyes a touch wider than normal. Crowley doesn't know why the angel is so embarrassed, it's just his shampoo and soap and stuff in here, and Crowley's not protective of any of it. If he's being brutally honest, and with himself at least he usually tries to be, the thought of Aziraphale coming out of here smelling like him is pretty compelling right now.

"Yeah, sure, anything you want, have at it, angel."

Aziraphale looks surprised, and then pleased, in a way that's almost shy. Before he murmurs something grateful, and slowly shuts the bathroom door.

Crowley's brain chooses that exact moment to helpfully remind him of the last time he'd taken a shower.

Or, more precisely, of what he'd done the last time he was in the shower. Of what he'd _left_ in the shower. What he'd left suctioned to the wall of the shower, the last time he was in there. When he was desperately trying to take the edge off the restless, frustrated tension that had been plaguing him since everything started going to shit. He remembers shoving back onto that length of hard silicone, hands flat on the opposite wall, groaning desperately every time he took it to the base. 

He'd never taken it down.

He'd never taken it down afterwards, and now Aziraphale is in there showering with it still stuck to the bloody wall.

Embarrassment crawls over Crowley in a wave, blood spilling up his neck to slap him in the face. How could he have done something so fucking stupid? How could he not have remembered? It takes two seconds to miracle it gone afterwards. He should know that you put your toys away when you've finished playing with them, you don't leave them out for angels to stumble across while they're at your place for the very first time. 

Aziraphale is naked in his bathroom right now, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, no way he hasn't gotten a good look at it, and reached the obvious conclusion. He knows exactly what Crowley does in the shower, knows what he wants when he's naked and soaking wet. He even knows the exact height and angle that Crowley likes to be fucked at.

Oh Someone...this is happening isn't it? He can already hear water running. Should he say something, should he try and explain through the door? He could play it off, pretend it wasn't what it looked like. Oh, that, no that may look like a dildo stuck to the wall. But really it's a piece of art, I paid thousands for it. The things people will consider modern art, eh? No, Aziraphale's not a fucking idiot, he's not going to believe that.

No, he should go for honesty, the angel appreciates honesty. Look, yes, it's a fucking dildo, I stick it to the wall and nail myself sometimes when I have a shower, a demon has needs, let's not make a big deal about it.

Fucking...no, he can't say that. 

_"Oh, is it alright if I use your...er -"_

Crowley's brain plays nothing but static for a long handful of seconds. Aziraphale didn't mean -

He couldn't possibly have meant that. There's no way that he meant that.

_But what if he did?_ His brain supplies helpfully. What if that's _exactly_ what the angel had meant when he'd asked? He's been in there a while already. How long does it take for Aziraphale to indulge in a bit of pampering, and how long does it take for him to...indulge himself?

Of course, then Crowley can't help but think about it. He can't help but picture the angel carefully slicking the dildo's jutting length, and then turning to hold himself open and slowly working his way back onto it. He can't help but imagine Aziraphale letting it press into him with a quiet, shivering exhale, while the water poured down over his naked body. Crowley has to wonder how exactly he'd use it. Whether he'd let it nudge gently between the slick, wet folds of his labia, sliding into the warmth of his cunt. Or if he'd spread his plush buttocks and lubricate himself, let it stretch open the tight clench of his arsehole, as he eased back onto that unyielding push of solid silicone, a few thick inches at a time.

Fuck.

_Fuck_. That's so hot all the breath lodges in his throat, and Crowley is now standing two feet away from the bathroom door, breathless and embarrassed, and so obviously erect that people miles away could probably see it with a good set of binoculars.

And he's helpless to do anything but picture them both. Because either option leaves Aziraphale's solid, luscious body pushing rhythmically back into the wall under the spray of water, taking the full length of it inside him, over and over, moaning quietly -

Crowley listens, listens to the fall of water, hearing nothing but that and the pound of his own blood in his ears. 

No, not moaning, biting his lip, desperately trying to stifle the sound of his pleasure. To make sure Crowley didn't hear him, didn't know what he was doing in there, how shameless he was being, how desperate he was for it, as he fucked himself on Crowley's toy. As he pushed back onto it, spreading himself open on the same thick length that Crowley's arse had clenched around in orgasm two days ago. Aziraphale would take it all in, he'd be greedy, body shaking with every rough thrust backwards, needing it so badly, roughly fisting his own stiff cock, his slippery anus stretched tightly around hard silicone, as it dragged and rubbed at his prostate - his flushed cunt soaking its length with his own slick, fingers moving on his clit, clenching sweetly every time the dildo nudged somewhere sensitive. He'd flatten a hand on the wall, use it to brace and shove back, so close -

The water shuts off abruptly.

Oh sweet fucking Satan. Crowley is not prepared for this.

He makes himself move away from the bathroom door, where he's been standing for the last twenty minutes or more, like some sort of bloody pervert. His dick is a solid, aching line inside his tight jeans, slickness leaking from the tip, to dampen his underwear and the denim. He miracles his erection away with a panicked hiss. Which leaves his whole body twitching in sudden, shocked betrayal, trying to cling to the frayed edges of arousal, while Aziraphale makes quiet towel noises and clattering sink noises, and who the fuck knows how long it's going to be before he opens the door.

And now Crowley's forced into some sort of Schrödinger's dildo situation, of wondering whether Aziraphale did or didn't use it. Or maybe the universe split and he did both, and Crowley will have no way of knowing which universe he's in until the atoms decay and he fucking dies.

He thinks he may have lost that analogy somewhere.

He's utterly unprepared for the bathroom door to open. For Aziraphale to appear suddenly in the frame, smiling in surprise and delight when he finds Crowley waiting for him. He's fully dressed, in clothes that look fresh and neatly pressed. He's perfectly clean, and he smells like Crowley's shampoo, and Crowley's soap, hair excessively fluffy, cheeks flushed pink. His eyes are bright and focused, and he looks energised, movements less stiff and more graceful. 

The whole picture seems designed specifically to make Crowley lose his mind. 

"Oh, that was an excellent idea, Crowley. I feel so much better. That was exactly what I needed, very invigorating." The angel presses a hand to his arm as he passes, a grasp and squeeze of fingers. "I'm feeling quite peckish now. Why don't I make us a snack while you take a turn in the shower, and then we can hash out something in the way of a plan."

Aziraphale drifts in the direction of his kitchen, where there is no food whatsoever, but Crowley doubts that's going to matter to the angel.

Did he, or didn't he? Crowley still has no idea.

Fucking Schrödinger has a lot to answer for.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Make Yourself At Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842222) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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